Folate
by Wings of Dark
Summary: Irene has a secret bundle of joy. How will Jerome take it?


Irene, impeccable as always at work, had an unreadable expression on her face as Jerome passed her. During their allotted lunch hour, she quietly asked him if they could talk after their work. They had been sitting not too far from each other in the bleak dining room. The shining black tables reminded Irene of the black suits that pervaded the building every morning, her lot in life, typing at her information terminal, calibrating the fuel load for the launch time window, or going over the designs for the shuttle chassis carrier. Every morning, it would take exactly 12.8 minutes for her to brush her hair, pin it back in the accepted stern style, slip her suit over her head, apply the allowable amount of lipstick, take her heart medication with a glass of water laced with the calcium she needed to stave off osteoporosis, although her assigned doctor had said the first signs of osteoporosis would not sent in for at least 15 years. The ride in her black BN T-Mobile took 31.6 minutes to her allotted parking space at Gattaca. At least she had preferred parking, one with her own code in it, after 5 years in the service.

The beeping of her medication case shook her from her musings. She clicked the case open, revealing the pale blue pill, and the slightly smaller red lozenge. One for her heart, the other against age-related diabetes. She wondered it had any harmful side effects, but dismissed the idea. There were no reports that the custom pills given to every less-than-perfect human had any serious side effects. Such small inefficiencies in medicine were done away with along with AIDS-positive infants by sterilizing them. Irene suppressed a shudder, at the thought, instead downing the two pills with her glass of orange juice. It too was specially modified to provide her with maximum amounts of trace minerals she needed. Irene wondered of folate were included.

It was also time for her to get back to work. As she left the long, artificially lit room, for an equally large, cavernous, less well-lit room, she stuck her finger on the identity pad, buzzing her through. How long would it take for the detectors, although mainly used for positive ID, identify something else in her blood? Gattaca's ID checks also provided as an assurance for the administrators that they have healthy and fit coworkers, within the boundaries of their physical and projected mental ability, of course. Irene strutted back to her workstation, lowering herself into the chair, her mind already to the task at hand.

Jerome was thrilled to see Irene padding around in his apartment in her silk bathrobe, her hair down. God, she looked beautiful, radiant even. She cracked a smile, the smile he had grown to love over the past several months. She sauntered over to him and placed her hands on her his shoulders, her eyes twinkling.

"I have something important to tell you."

Jerome pulled a strand of hair from her chin. "What is it?"

Irene hesitated momentarily, chewing on her lip but dove right in. "I'm pregnant."

Jerome's face showed surprise, and then he grasped his lover's hands. "A-are you sure?" He sounded like a little boy, excited and unsure.

Irene smiled, placing her hand protectively over her stomach. "Yes, I am." Then her face fell, as it hit her what was to happen. She fell back into the chair, her mind racing ahead. "That means I'll—I won't be able to have my assured place. That also means his genetic sequences will be perfection." Her voice took a strange note. "Perfect, as I never was."

Jerome's own mind was pre-occupied, thinking of ways he could tell her, worrying about his torn choice between her and the baby and the stars. He had come this far, so close to his goal. He felt such joy. He was to be a father! Also, resolute sadness. She would only learn after the genetic tastes the child's father was no piece of perfection. He wanted to bolt from the room, or tell her everything, his mind was in turmoil. He sat down next to her, his eyes betraying the unrest. How could he say? What would he do?

"Irene," he started strongly, stroking her cheek. His voice faltered, "I too have something to tell you . . ."


End file.
